


Sometimes

by Brookania



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Smoking, an exploration into Mail's personality and feelings for Mihael, main use of birth names tbh, otherwise the stoic kid feels a feel, they barely even talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brookania/pseuds/Brookania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the harsh reality was that Mail didn't have as many things in control as he liked to believe. Mihael was the number one problem, yet he refused to believe that as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

Sometimes, words were the only thing that went through his head, aside from plots and scenarios and an abundance of unnecessary math for certain probabilities and the outcomes of situations. Sometimes, those words that ran through his mind were all it took to drive him over the edge. He was calm, nearly stoic if not entirely sarcastic, and sometimes, very rarely, words were all it took to make him lash out with seething rage. Sometimes, Mail Jeevas wasn't a man of few words, because all of the words that ran through his head were stronger than his will, and they openly spilled with vigor and search for resolution; the search for the release they rarely received. And sometimes, he'd sit back and reasses his words, his thoughts once again bubbling with math, probability, situations, scenarios, outcomes until the point his head hurt and all he wanted to do was scream and lash out more. He hated the sensation of not being in control, and he hated to feel as if someone's false observation was absolutely goddamn true. Because he hated to think even more that someone dared to say they knew him better than he knew himself because he knew for damn sure no one knew him. No one.

So when the words of that brat breached his calm facade, it took everything within his will not to punch him, break his nose, give him a black eye. " _You're his pet, submissive and loyal. It's kind of pathetic_." Thankfully, his words sat patiently, daring to breach the protection of his grit teeth and pursed lips. After a moment of staring upon the albino, watching, waiting, ensuring he was finished -because he'd be _damned_ if he missed a second of his assessment- he allowed those words which stirred within the confinements of his head to form proper sentences. When those ugly, beady eyes of a pale _child_ stared back at him, he could only thank his words for being stronger than his will and his urge to punch him.

His words held no particular bite; the bite would be saved for his own time. But, as always, his anger was hidden beneath sarcasm and tinted goggles. "Sorry. Should I hide my obsession behind a tiny voice and dark bags under my eyes from all the nights of caring too much? A little maniacal shit eating grin that seems to insinuate I'm better without blatantly saying it myself?" Nate had merely blinked and stared upon the older man whom he rarely spoke with, whilst Mail turned on his heels and left that room in a sense of urgency. He had to get out of there, had to hit something, smoke, scream, _anything_ to relieve this rare feeling of anger which he hated so much. How was it that words were always what hit him hardest? That sunk deeper than a shank to his abdomen ever could? Was it because he was so scared of the assumptions being true?

Before he could make it to a sanctuary, he was out in the parking lot of the special orphanage, screaming to the top of his lungs. _He was sick of it_. People thinking he simply ruled in Mihael's shadow to gain pity from the blond. _For fuck's sake, he hadn't cared about the damn scores since day one_. He hadn't cared about being ranked or having his intelligence based upon test scores that ultimately did nothing in regards to his own reasoning and life skills. He wanted a normal life outside of these freaks whose only obsession was Lawliet, _success him, success the pale freak who never sees sunlight with his own damn eyes, and whose body quivers like a leaf in the breeze, and whose personality was more shitty than a sewage plant_. Success the man who didn't give a damn about the kids who worked day in and day out to be just like him.

No, he didn't accidentally live in Mihael's shadow, he didn't "accidentally" do worse than him. He let him do better because he simply didn't want that life and seeing Mihael happy was all that fucking mattered to him at this point, because unlike all the other teenage freaks around that house, the blond had social skills and a damn heart. Even if he himself was just as consumed in the idea of taking over that worthless job.

His fist met with the hard metal of his car, his screaming faltering as his voice strained and broke. He wasn't a loyal pet. He wasn't submissive. And most of all, he wasn't pathetic. He had a personality with complex thoughts and feelings for people that weren't L and anyone better than him that he absolutely needed to surpass no matter what. The only reason he cared so much for Mihael was because he did the same for him and that helped him to realize at such a young age that this life didn't matter to him if it had to revolve around L. It only mattered if Mihael was his center of attention, the one he surrounded himself with and supported to the ends of the world to ensure he was happy-- because sometimes, smiling was all that mattered, and to him, Mihael was the embodiment of perfection when he smiled.

There was a long, unfulfilling pause from the brunet as his head rested against his car, and his hands folded together against the back of his neck. He cared so much about Mihael, how could it possibly seem as if he were merely a pet? For some reason, his question was rhetorical. He knew the answer.

They didn't see what he seen. They didn't see the calm blue eyes when he was sleepy, or the lazy smile that graced his lips so delicately when he laughed, or the way his hair fell so perfectly over his rounded and perfectly shaped face. They didn't get to see the soft curves on his body, contrary to the sharp bite of his words. They simply never seen Mihael calm, the picture of beauty which he truly was.

And sometimes, Mail was glad for that. It meant Mihael trusted him most, gave his happiness to Mail in hopes he'd handle it delicately, for he was frightened of the concept of those things being broken. Of course, Mail always did exactly that. Not once did he ever let Mihael's happiness slip between his fingers; he'd be damned if he lost such a beautiful privilege. Mihael wasn't pure evil, and Mail was thankful he got to hold those kind, if a bit teasing, words in his heart. Every time his thoughts and words presented a challenge, the memory of Mihael's always lifted him up and calmed him. The sound of his laugh always lingered in his mind, and his soft breathing when he slept peacefully was always quick to take him into another reality away from his problems. Sometimes, the games and smokes weren't the perfect distraction from his own thoughts; Mihael was.

But right now, Mihael wasn't by his side to reassure him. The only thing he had was the poisonous smoke he used to set his lungs aflame, to direct his pain from his thoughts to his body. So when he placed that solid death against his lips and took a long, sweet drag of the nicotine, he swore Mihael's kiss would taste just the same. Pleasing once the craving was satisfied, yet deadly if he were to get addicted. He held the smoke within his lungs for a moment, savoring the horrid feeling of being consumed by his own idiocy, before exhaling the pain and memories, along with his pride and self deprecation. He was satisfied, he decided. He flicked the half-smoked cigarette to the ground. What a waste.

Without another logical thought to swirl through his haze filled mind, he slid into his car. The one that smelled exactly like his deadly addiction-- Mihael. He had always insisted on keeping his favorite air freshener in the car so that it didn't reek of noxious smoke all the time. Somehow, it smelled of his cologne, or those damn leather clothes he always wore. Perhaps it was just his imagination. He rested his head on the seat, one hand on the key in the ignition, the other gripping tight to the wheel. This way, he could soak in that scent to rid his nose of the cigarette's nasty fumes. Instead, he was fully susceptible to the deadly cologne that'd drag him back under every time.

There was a tap on the passenger door's window, quickly snapping Mail from his pathetic self-intoxication and drunk dreams. Eyes of celadon green met with the image of a lithe form clad in leather. Speak of the devil. The door wasn't locked, so why was Mihael waiting for permission? It was odd of him. The brunet made no attempt to communicate, allowing the other man to take matters into his own hands and slide into the car upon opening the door. He didn't close it immediately, and he definitely didn't try to speak to his companion. It was an odd feeling, as if he could sense Mail's discomfort disguised as disinterest.

"You talked to him, huh?" His voice, soft and smooth, attempted to come out gruff and angered. Mail wasn't fazed and didn't seem to even shift his gaze from the discolored gates in front of him.

"Yeah," was all he managed-- all he really cared to say. Slowly, near silently, Mihael sighed and pulled the door closed.

"Fine. Let's get out of here." For a moment, Mail seemed to hesitate. Was he really willing to go anywhere with this devil?

Somehow, yes, he was. Because this devil was the only friend he had and sometimes companionship outweighs sanity and he'd always ensure Mihael's happiness until the day he died.

Truly, he was a pathetic and loyal friend.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like a lot of the fandom's interpretation of Matt?? Like tbh he's a blunt, sarcastic, loose Mello. This is how I'd interpret him bye lmao.


End file.
